The summer heat weighed heavily… on New Volantis, making the city shimmer with its black stone, bronze towers, and the long shadows from the massive Black Walls. The streets bustled with noise... merchants called out prices, chains rattled, and overseers shouted orders. Underneath it all, a steady sense of misery filled the city.
Amid the heat, the noise, and the misery, a girl was dragged through the streets.
Tessa, small and pale, stumbled as her father pulled her forward, his grip tight around her wrist. Her long silver-gold hair caught the sunlight, shining like molten metal. Her eyes, once a bright Valyrian violet, were wide with panic. She tried to pull away, tried to break free, but he didn't look at her. He just kept walking, jaw set, eyes ahead, treating her like a sack of grain he planned to sell.
..They used to be a well-off, respectable family of traders. Her mother's laughter once filled their home, and her father had been gentle. But after her mother left with another man, everything fell apart. The business failed, the money disappeared, and her father lost himself in wine, taverns, and anger.
Now he hit her often… sometimes for speaking, sometimes just for breathing, and sometimes because she reminded him of the woman who left him. She carried her mother's Valyrian blood in every feature of her face.
But this morning was not like the others.
He entered her room without saying a word, grabbed her arm, and dragged her outside. She screamed, begged, and clung to the doorframe, but a single hard slap stopped her. Her cheek still stung from the blow.
Now she understood where they were headed.
They were going to the slave markets, and she knew what that meant… she had already been sold.
Tessa caught her breath as they walked under the tall archway of the eastern district. New Volantis was built on the backs of slaves, and its buildings showed it. Black stone towers rose like spears, carved with ancient glyphs. Bronze statues of tigers and dragons lined the streets, their eyes cold and unblinking. The air was thick with the scents of spice, sweat, and despair.
Slaves in chains swept the streets… slave backs bent under heavy baskets and crates. Others pulled wagons, their ankles raw from shackles. Volantene soldiers in tiger cloaks patrolled lazily, their whips hanging at their sides as constant threats.
Cages lined the market road, holding men, women, and children even younger than Tessa.
As she passed, eyes followed her… some empty, some resigned, others hungry with the knowledge that someone new would join them. Her pale hair and violet eyes drew even more attention, since Valyrian beauty always sold for more.
She fought harder, panic rising in her throat.
Her father didn't slow down, didn't speak, and didn't look back.
He slapped her again, hard enough to blur her vision. In that moment, something inside her broke.
The spark in her eyes faded. Her breath became hollow, and her body stopped resisting.
Her father paused, surprised by her sudden stillness. He didn't turn around, just tightened his grip and kept pulling her toward the auction block.
Tessa followed, her feet moving while her spirit felt empty, shattered… she looked at the sky, praying for the miracle that could save her, knowing well that there were only stories in her books.
---
Warm summer air drifted through the open window of Old Nan's home. Walder lay in bed, humming softly as he reached for a dust mote floating in the sunlight. He looked peaceful.
Erick and Old Nan sat in two old wooden chairs, their backs curved and worn smooth from years of storytelling. Old Nan rested her hands in her lap, gathering her thoughts.
"From where do I begin…"
"Just imagine," Erick said, leaning forward slightly, "that I know nothing about magic. Start from the beginning…"
She gave him a strange look, as if deciding whether he was mocking her. But his expression… Hiruzen's expression… remained calm, attentive, and neutral.
"Alright," she said with a small shrug. She still didn't understand why he insisted he didn't use magic, but she continued. "I will introduce myself again. My name is Shiera Seastar… and I am ready to risk everything for my son."
Her eyes, old and tired but still burning with hope, met Erick's.
"Magic, what I know of it, was learned mostly by myself. When I was still young. When I lived in the Red Keep."
Erick stayed still and didn't blink, but inside he froze. He had heard this before.
But he kept up his disguise, and she continued, unaware of his surprise.
"I found a hidden stock of magical knowledge while roaming the Red Keep's secret passages," she said, a faint smile touching her lips as she remembered. "Back then, I knew nothing of the world's troubles."
"And if I'm not wrong, that room still exists. Untouched."
Erick made a mental note to add it to his list of places to investigate.
"Besides that knowledge," she continued, "I traveled the world. Learned more. Magic, as I understand it, for the beginners falls into two groups… those born with the ability to sense it… and those who learn to sense it."
"What's the difference?" Erick asked.
"Those who can sense magic naturally have larger reserves and better control," she said. "But in the end, everything depends on how you use it."
For a moment, Erick nearly broke character. He wanted to ask, are you Itachi's reincarnation? But his face and disguise stayed perfectly neutral.
"Training-wise," she went on, "those who can sense magic have it easier. But the training itself is the same for everyone."
She stood and walked to her bookshelf, taking out two clean sheets of parchment. On one, she drew a spiral curling inward. On the other, a spiral curling outward.
"There are many other rules that need to be followed, before learning magic… but for now, I will explain things as simply as possible. Concentration and disruption runes. A folk‑eyes, some call them."
She held up both sheets.
"I drew them with basic ink, so they are not real folk-eyes. Real ones require magical conduits… plant sap from magical herbs, blood of magical beasts… or the blood of sorcerers."
Her voice faltered at the last part. "It's…" she sighed. "It brings unpleasant memories," she whispered.
Erick nodded gently and let her continue at her own pace.
"Magic itself, it is everywhere… in the trees, in the ground, in the air. To begin training, a sorcerer holds a concentration rune and the disruption rune close. Then they sit. Still. As still as possible. The better the discipline of no movement, the easier it becomes to feel magic."
"At the same time, a practitioner needs to be in good physical and mental condition." She folded her hands.
"It usually takes a month to a year to sense it. Once you do… You pull it slowly into yourself, just a little. The first time for everyone will be a numbing feeling. The sorcerer must touch the disruption rune quickly, or the weakness will spread. If magic is not disrupted in time, the body becomes unresponsive. The mind loses focus. Someone must be present to clear the magic from their system… with the disruption folk-eye… a slight touch of it… It will clear the magic from practitioner coils instantly…"
"There are some with really weak magical coils that can experience pain when magical energy tries to expand their coils for the first time… but most of the time it will be a feeling of numbness."
"By repeating this practice, the practitioner will gradually be able to draw more magical energy. Over time, the numbness will fade as their bodies adapt to magic, making them physically stronger."
She kept talking, but Erick was no longer listening.
His mind raced. The more she described magic, the more familiar it sounded.
Old Nan's voice faded into the background as Erick stared at the spirals, thinking about how magic worked according to her words.
---
Summer light filled Catelyn Stark's chambers, making every surface warm and bright. The midday sun softened the stone walls, giving the room a gentle, almost southern feel. The chambers were spacious… much larger than what she knew in Riverrun… but they always felt too big and too empty.
Thick woven carpets in deep Tully blues… muted greys covered the cold floor. The carved chest sat under the window, its lid half-open and filled with neatly folded gowns. Heavy bed stood in the center… its dark posts carved with dire wolves… with river trout. Sheets were rumpled from her pacing… of anger… shame. A silver basin of water caught the sunlight…, sending ripples of brightness across the walls. The faint scent of lavender lingered… from her morning wash.
Catelyn sat on the edge of the bed… her fingers trembling on the embroidered coverlet. Her anger still burned… hot… sharp, but beneath it was something more fragile… loneliness.
When she first arrived at Winterfell, the servants looked at her with suspicion. She overheard whispers… southerner, outsider, can't be trusted. Every day, she tried to prove them wrong. She smiled, worked, and tried to be gracious. Still, the keep felt cold, and she felt alone.
Ned was away then, fighting in Robert's war. News of victory and coronation brought relief, but not comfort. She was still alone in a place that didn't feel like hers.
Then the letter came.
She recognized her sister's handwriting and their childhood code, but the words weren't Lysa's… they were Petyr Baelish's. He was her childhood friend, someone who knew her before she became Lady Stark, and someone who wrote with warmth, familiarity, and affection.
His letters became her lifeline. His jokes, encouragement, and kind words filled the silence Ned left behind. They reminded her that she mattered, that someone cared, and that someone listened.
When Ned returned with a bastard at his side, she tried to accept it. She had prepared herself for the possibility, but the pain still cut deep. She tried to be dutiful and wise, hoping Ned's return would end her loneliness.
But Ned kept everything inside. He spoke little and shared even less. They were husband and wife, but beyond that, they shared nothing.
So the letters continued.
Petyr's words became bolder, more flattering, and more poisonous. He told her she deserved respect, that she should be feared, and that as the wife of the Warden of the North, the North should bow to her. Slowly, she began to see the world through his eyes. She punished small acts of disobedience, replaced servants who whispered behind her back, and tightened her grip on the household. She carved out a place for herself… a place she believed she deserved.
Now… in the warm midday light, she took the latest letter from its hidden drawer and read it again… letting the familiar handwriting soothe her wounded pride.
Petyr understood her. Petyr supported her. Petyr…
The door opened.
Catelyn froze.
She had forgotten to close it.
Ned stood silently in the doorway. His eyes landed on the letter in her hand before she could hide it. She pushed it under her pillow, but it was too late. He had already seen everything.
He walked into the room and sat on the bed with his back to her. His voice was quiet, almost tired.
"Catelyn… I read your letters, all of them."
She caught her breath as shame washed over her. Those letters held more than sisterly talk. She hoped he hadn't broken the code.
"I was able to read through the code as well."
Her throat tightened, and she couldn't speak.
Ned continued, still not looking at her.
"In the courtyard, you said the people who worked here their whole lives were betraying you. Betraying me. Betraying House Stark. But…"
He didn't finish… he didn't need to. He turned his head just enough for her to see the disappointment in his eyes. Catelyn lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning.
"I am sorry, Catelyn," Ned said softly. "I cannot be the kind of husband you hoped for. You knew that when you married me. Too many people depend on me. Too many burdens rest on my shoulders. It is not fair to you."
He stood, moving toward the door.
"I know you well enough to know you are an honorable woman. You would never betray me. Of that I am certain."
Catelyn looked up, surprised by the gentleness in his voice.
"But your friend Petyr Baelish…" Ned paused, his expression hardening. "He does not seem as friendly as he pretends."
"What do you mean?" she started, anger rising. But when she saw his face, the seriousness, the worry… the clarity in his expression.
"Wife," he said, "go out. Walk. Clear your mind. Then come back and read your letters carefully. You will understand what I mean."
She didn't understand… not yet. But she nodded anyway, her hands shaking.
Ned opened the door, then stopped.
"One last thing," he said quietly. "You already know this, but in the North, people speak less. Our actions speak louder than any words. You must earn their trust. Their loyalty. Today… you made that harder. Don't give up."
He stepped out, leaving her alone in the warm, sunlit room.
Catelyn sat in the quiet, sunlight-filled room, her mind crowded with a hundred swirling thoughts.
---
Erick listened to Old Nan's explanations about magic, but by now, he was sure of one thing. He just needed to prove his theory, but he was convinced that the magic energy she described was something he knew by another name… natural energy. It felt familiar because his array formation in Sea Dragon Point used it. When Old Nan used magic to light the candle, he sensed the same energy he felt when he first activated his core formation. Back then, he was too caught up in the effect to analyze it, but now, as he listened, everything made sense.
Erick had many questions, especially about why practitioners didn't turn to stone. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. People in this world didn't have enough spiritual energy to draw large amounts of natural energy. He already knew that chakra was a mix of spiritual and physical energies, but its amount and control depended on spiritual energy. So, at most, practitioners here could only take in a small strand of natural energy… too little to turn them to stone. It was such a small amount that they only felt numbness. That was his understanding for now, but he still needed to confirm it.
There was already some evidence supporting his theory. From what he knew, natural energy and chakra were basically the same… one wild and chaotic, the other gentle and controlled. That was why Old Nan was so sure Erick used magic.
"Hiruzen… are you listening?"
Old Nan nearly waved her hand in front of his face. Erick was so lost in thought that he looked like he was in a trance.
"E… yes, I'm listening…" Erick said, coming out of his thoughts and looking at Old Nan to reassure her that he was carefully listening.
She knew he wasn't.
"I know it's a dumb question, but you tried using on him the disruption folk‑eye…" Old Nan looked at Erick with a questioning expression, as if asking whether he was insulting her intelligence. But she sighed in the end.
"Yes… more than that." She looked at her hands, her expression one of loss. "In the past ten years, I tried everything to cure my son. I even…" She stopped herself from saying more. There were secrets that even she was afraid to say aloud.
Erick noticed her silence but assumed she was remembering something sad.
"Now then, what next?" Old Nan asked quietly. "Did it help you understand something?" She looked at Erick with a fragile hope, as if her words might finally matter to someone.
"Yes," Erick said, exhaling slowly. "You were able to clarify a lot."
He paused to gather his thoughts.
"I will be honest… right now, here as I stand, I can't help your son."
Old Nan caught her breath but didn't interrupt. Erick paused for a long moment before continuing.
"But I know what your son's affliction is. And if you give me time… I will be able to heal him."
Old Nan leaned forward, hanging on every word he said.
"First, about your son," Erick said. "The magic that afflicts him… it is a type of time and space magic. If I am not wrong, that is why nothing worked on him. And the other part of this magic is a kind that forcefully controls his mind. It is like a command that assaults him every other second, keeping him in that state."
He spoke truthfully, saying exactly what he believed was happening inside Walder's mind.
Old Nan stared at him as if he spoke a language from another world. She understood his words, but ideas like space and time magic were new to her. Still, the thought that someone was trying to control her son. Her fists clenched, her jaw tightened, and her teeth ground together in silent anger.
"Right now, as it is," Erick continued, "you have two choices. One is to follow me and wait until I am able to heal your son. The other is to stay here and wait for our next visit. If your son is close by, I will be able to examine him much closer and administer his healing process more easily."
Old Nan understood what he was saying. She looked around the room that had been her home, her refuge, and her prison for forty years. Then she looked at her son. She had already lost everything. There was nothing left to lose.
"When are we leaving?" she asked, with seriousness on her face that surprised even Erick. He was not sure if he was doing the right thing, but if this world were using natural energy to perform magic, he needed to rethink all of his future actions…